Follow My Lead
by vitt1977
Summary: Hannah Kolchov, a detective happily married to her former partner, spent hours teasing her friend Alex Eames about her relationship with her own partner. This story is about the events and investigation following Hannah's murder. Set just after Smile.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Alex Eames stared at the empty chair opposite hers and wondered if, perhaps, any of the knick-knack stores along Broadway or Chambers Street stocked Santa Claus mugs.

Her partner wouldn't want to be reminded of last Thanksgiving, anyway.

"Alex?" Hannah Kolchov, a fellow Major Case detective, lay a hand on her friend's shoulder. "I thought it was quitting time for you too."

She stood up quickly. "Yes, I was just –"

"Daydreaming. Staring at the desk across from yours and daydreaming. Let's get a drink."

"I'm not up for the bar tonight."

"Gary says he'll meet us there, and the baby's with her grandparents, so we've got a few hours. Come on, when was the last time we all sat down together like grown-ups."

Eames had graduated from the academy with Hannah and Gary, and they'd all moved up through vice together. Her friends had been (conveniently) partners before they'd started sleeping together, and, thanks to an understanding captain, they'd managed to hold on to both their jobs and each other, though their professional partnership was over.

Eames, happily married to a cop at the time, thought Hannah and Gary's story was – sort of – sweet.

Sweet until last year, when Hannah was promoted to Major Case and became intently interested in the way her friend Alex interacted with Bobby Goren.

"Open your eyes, woman, and follow my lead," Hannah would joke whenever Alex complained in private about her love life. Or, she would tease her about how Goren was devoted to her like a puppy.

"Where's Mike tonight?" Hannah asked as they settled into a corner booth. "I saw you and Wheeler bringing a couple of perps in before."

"I've been working with Wheeler all week. Mike's got something with this girl – maybe a girlfriend -- who threw herself out a window. I don't know, I try not to get involved."

"And your partner?" Hannah demanded as Gary joined them.

"Y'know, Alex," he started in, "to this day, we're all still talking about how we miss you stumbling off the elevator at 6AM in hooker boots."

Hannah punched her husband lightly. "How's he doing, really?"

"He's … he'll get through this. The funeral, it was him, me, a couple other cops, and some nurses from the home. His brother didn't show. But … three weeks, he'll be back." Despite what she was telling them, she imagined him alone in his apartment, poring over Mark Ford Brady's notebook, outraged and grief-stricken and frozen solid. Maybe he'd asked the M.E. to run a DNA test. Maybe –

Hannah interrupted her thoughts. "You're his best friend. You should be there for him."

"I will never admit you're right," Eames said sharply, "but" – lowering her voice now so that her friends almost couldn't hear her over the sound of the bar patrons – "I think I may be the only person Bobby's got left in the world, and that's why I'm not comfortable going over there right now."

"I've only met the guy once," Gary said, "but he seems … intense."

"And our little Alex is the only one who understands him."

Eames had nothing to say in response. Hannah didn't understand that their partnership was not a game, not a sweet undercover love story like hers and Gary's had been.

After a second drink, Hannah and Gary went home to their daughter, and Alex almost took the Williamsburg Bridge over to Brooklyn, but it was just another almost, and forty-five minutes later, she was home in Rockaway.


	2. One

One

"I didn't mean it that way, Bobby."

Goren looked up from his paperwork. "If you want another partner, tell me. I won't be the one to hold you back."

"No."

"Because 'it's too late now'?"

"I meant there was no turning back. You and I unfortunately make such a good team that – well, we function too well together to break this partnership up. We'll talk about it later."

He was a wreck, and she genuinely felt awful about suggesting to him that it was his fault that it was too late for her to move up in the force. He'd almost screwed up their investigation by falling for Leslie Lezard's charms and red power suits, and that just wasn't like him. Maybe he just needed a good – well, that was another matter – she watched her partner's long fingers tap the surface of the desk – that was definitely another matter.

Goren continued to tap his fingers and wondered if Eames could have possibly been thinking what he thought she was thinking. He'd been trying to figure out her thoughts of almost a year now, ever since that day he'd almost lost her – when he realized that, with his mother's negative prognosis, his partner was the only –

His reflections were interrupted by the sight of a few dozen detectives heading for the door. "Goren!" Captain Ross called from inside his office.

"Shut the door behind you," he said with a calm that obviously (at least to Goren) covered up a sense of panic.

"What's with the --?"

"One of ours is down. Logan and Falacci just caught the case, and I want you to hook up with them on this."

"Eames and I'll …"

"No. I've got to keep Eames here for this one."

Goren's eyes fell to the floor, then turned to look through the blinds at Eames, who stood across from another officer, her hand covering her nose and mouth, shock emanating from her eyes.

"Hannah Kolchov, her friend," he guessed.

"She was found twenty minutes ago on West 84th with a bullet through her lung. You need to understand, I can't risk the investigation by putting Eames on the case. McCoy's given me enough trouble about how we let her arrest her husband's killer. Now, go."

Goren tried to walk straight past his partner to the elevator, but she latched on to his arm. "I'm coming with you."

Eames' sense of panic transformed into one of almost overwhelming grief as her partner looked at her with sad, sloping eyes. "Talk to Ross," he said, choking the three words out.

Goren arrived on the scene to find Logan and Falacci still hunched over Hannah Kolchov's body. "Captain said he was teaming us up with Whackjob Goren," Logan explained to his partner.

"Not now, Logan."

"All right." Logan stood, and Goren sat on the sidewalk to get a closer look at Hannah. "There's a hole clean through her right hand, but we only found one shell casing."

"But," Falacci said, "Kolchov seemed a bit too smart to try to block a bullet with her hand, don't you think? What we can't figure out is why she'd be out in the street confronting somebody without her weapon."

"No holster," Logan noted.

Goren, naturally, was smelling the dead woman's hair. "Lemon, and it burns. This is heavy-duty rug shampoo. She wasn't killed here. Get these officers out canvassing all the office buildings in the area."

As the folks from the M.E.'s office carted the body away, Goren touched Falacci's arm. "Help me out here. Play the victim."

"Nice, I love role-playing."

Not now, he wanted to say. He wondered if Eames would show, despite Ross's orders.

"Kolchov's in an office building somewhere, arguing with our perp. He draws a gun." Goren pointed his own gun at Falacci.

"Which she completely doesn't expect because otherwise she'd have brought her weapon and told somebody where she was going."

"Did you know her well?" Goren asked. "Was she the type who played by the rules?"

"You gotta talk to your partner on that one, Goren," Logan said.

With what Earmes had been through that year – her kidnapping, the reopening of the investigation into Joe's shooting– he wondered how she'd handle this tragedy.

"So, guy draws a gun on you, you don't expect it at all, it's coming totally out of left field, what do you do?"

"I reach," Falacci said, demonstrating for Goren, "for a weapon I don't have."

"Kolchov was on the job eighteen years. Makes sense," Logan said.

"So Kolchov draws her invisible gun, she's surprised, her hand goes up in front of her ribcage like this, and –"

"We're looking for someone she was expecting to have a nonviolent meeting with." Goren shook his head. "I'm heading back to One PP to make sure – to – to – talk to the husband, find out what was happening in her personal life."


	3. Two

Two

Back at One Police Plaza, Goren found Eames sitting with Gary Kolchov in Captain Ross's office. "Detective Kolchov," Goren said, shaking the widower's hand.

"Detective Goren." Gary's eyes were surrounded by purple haloes. "I don't know where she was going tonight."

"Did she say anything to you at all?"

"No, I heard her on the phone with her sister this afternoon, and – what do you know so far?"

Goren pulled up a chair. "Detective," he said, "right now –"

"Please. Tell me what you know. Be honest."

"We think she was killed in an office building on the Upper West Side."

"But they found her on the sidewalk."

"We … think she was killed instantly, and that her killer dumped her body out on the street," he lied. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eames turn to the wall. She knew better than to let Ross see her cry, especially if she was going to be involved in this case.

"We've got half our squad out there questioning Hannah's suspects," Ross told them.

"That's not necessary." Goren waved his left hand as if to cancel out Ross's theory. "If this were a confrontation with a suspect, she wouldn't have been unarmed."

Eames spun around. "You're saying this is personal?"

"Had your wife been having problems with any friends, neighbors, debtors …" Ross began.

"All the questions you have to ask." Gary wrung his hands. "How many times have we had to say that to suspects, right? Um, no, she didn't owe anyone money, there is no way she was having an affair" – here he turned to Eames for support and she nodded vigorously – "no mob involvement, no …"

"Goren, go with Logan and Falacci to canvas the Kolchovs' apartment."

"I'm going too," Eames insisted.

"I'm pairing you with another detective while Goren works this case."

"If I'm going," Gary said, "Alex should come with us. She can sit with Hannah's parents and Marina."

On the way out the door, Goren lightly laid a hand on his partner's back. "How're you doing?" he whispered, knowing that sometimes, amidst grief, a "how're you doing?" was all the comfort a friend needed.

Alex Eames tried to keep it together as she drove Gary back to his apartment. "Oh, God," he said suddenly, "how do you explain to a two-year-old …"

She reached over with her right arm and rubbed his left shoulder. "We're gonna find him, and he'll fry, I promise."

"Won't bring my Hannah back."

"I know."

When they arrived at the apartment, they found Logan and Falacci already there, rifling through the den while Hannah's parents looked on. Goren, meanwhile, was pulling every book out of the ceiling-high bookshelf.

"Goren, what are you –" Something on one of the middle shelves seemed to catch Falacci's eye. "Grab me that one, would ya? Purple Hearts and Yellow Daisies."

"Oh, that's just Millie's novel," Hannah's mother said.

"Hannah's younger sister," Eames told Falacci.

Falacci examined the spine, then checked the copyright notice. Logan looked over her shoulder, then flipped through his notepad; he knew what she was thinking. "345 West 84th Street. A rent-an-office occupied by Mitchell Street Publishers."

"The publisher of this book." Falacci held the copyright page up for Goren to see.

"It's one of those scam outfits," Goren said. "There's no CIP number on this, you see."

"Explain for the rest of the class," Logan demanded.

"Cataloguing-in-Publication. Without CIP data, libraries won't buy the book. All legitimate publishers create CIP data because they make money from book sales, not from collecting money from their authors. You get a couple of thousand libraries across the country to buy your book, and—"

"Detective Kolchov," Falacci interrupted, "we need to speak to your wife's sister."

Gary shrugged and looked to his in-laws. "We didn't tell her yet," Hannah's father explained. "We were going to wait until morning."

"I need you to have your daughter come see us right away," Goren said. "She was scammed by these Mitchell Street guys. We need to find out if your wife caught on to the scam, because if she did, we're really going to like the guy who's bilking writers out of money for her murder."

"Ok, we'll get on it," Gary said.

"Look." Logan took Goren's arm and pulled him into the kitchen. "Falacci and I will head back to One PP with Kolchov and wait for the sister. Take your partner home – we'll catch you up in a couple hours. She doesn't look too good."

Goren nodded. Eames didn't look well at all, and he knew Ross would chew her out for being too involved with the investigation already. McCoy and his ADAs had apparently been keeping Major Case on a short lease ever since Eames had arrested her husband's killer a few weeks earlier.

He drove – she had left her own car in Manhattan and took Gary home in the squad car – a good thing, maybe, since One PP was a lengthy A-train ride from her place. They wouldn't have to worry about her bursting in early in the morning.

Eames let out a shallow sigh. It was 3AM; she wanted to sit on her couch and cry for her friend, in private. But first, while he had him next to her, she wanted to clear the air with her partner. It was, after all, what Hannah would have told her to do.

Hannah … dragged out into the street, her last moments nothing but pain. The lively young cadet; later, the vice cop who'd teased her incessantly about Joe's bagpipe-playing skills; the dedicated officer terrified she'd lose her job because after five years of friendship, she'd fallen madly in love with her partner. And then there was Marina, the little girl born out of that love, who'd probably grow up not remembering her mother. There'd by only pictures, maybe medals hanging on the wall, to tell her who her mother was.

Goren pulled into the driveway. "I'm walking you in."

"It's okay," she said. "None of your mentors' kids around to kidnap me."

He cracked a very faint smile, and she knew she'd have to talk to him. "C'mon in, Bobby."

He followed her inside.

"I wouldn't trade the last eight years for anything in the world, including a promotion," she said. She placed a hand on his hair, lowered his head down to her face, and planted a comforting kiss on his forehead. "I cannot imagine what you have been going through these last few months" – she choked on the sobs she was holding back – "and I hate to see you hurt, so I'm sorry if I'm responsible for that."

"Same here, Alex."

He had already seen her cry once, when she'd berated him for reopening Joe's case. Once was more than enough, she reminded herself, so there would have to be no more tears tonight.

But when she felt his thumb on her cheek, she realized she wasn't controlling her tears as well as she'd thought. "Please go back. Find this publisher. I'll see you in the morning."

He wrapped his arms around her. On one hand, the pressure his chest exerted on the spot below her collarbone was exactly what she needed; on the other hand, she feared she'd break down in his arms if he continued to hold her like this.

"Please go," she sobbed.

"Oh – I – oh." His eyes grieved with her; her sadness had knocked the wind out of him. "Call me," he said when words stopped failing him, "if at any point you're not okay tonight."

As he closed the door behind him, Eames wondered if Hannah had been right about Goren's overwhelming devotion, if she should have just opened her eyes and followed Hannah and Gary's lead.

But that … that it was really too late for.


	4. Three

Three

Eames woke up at 6AM after a full two hours of sleep, showered, picked up her weapon and badge, and caught the A train back to One Police Plaza.

By the time the train had ambled through Brooklyn and north into Manhattan, it was already eight o'clock.

She didn't see Goren, Falacci, or Logan at their desks, so she went over to interrogation, where, perhaps predictably, she found Goren arguing with Ross and an ADA.

"You have to let me ask him who hired him," Goren said, pointing to the middle-aged man behind the two-way mirror.

"We already have a confession," the ADA insisted.

"Ms. Rubirosa's right," Logan said, nodding to acknowledge Eames' presence. "This moron shot a cop to keep his own scam under wraps."

"Catch me up?" Eames asked.

Rubirosa raised an eyebrow. "Detective Eames?"

"I'm not on this case. No need to worry."

"McCoy doesn't want you around for the investigation. He says they'll bring up the Minaya case and your division's credibility will be tossed out the window."

"This is Martin Daitsch," Goren said, pointing at the accused, who must have left his discount-store sport jacket on as the detectives questioned him, because he'd sweat all the way through his flimsy white shirt. "He heads up Mitchell Street Publishing. It's just him and a couple of secretaries who call themselves 'editors.' They're based in Pennsylvania but they rent an office in New York every couple of weeks, where they send out letters telling authors how spectacularly wonderful their works are. Then he charges them a $700 setup fee. The Pennsylvania DA was about to bring up six thousand counts of fraud against him. You follow me?"

Most people wouldn't have been able to follow his reasoning, but Eames bit down on her lower lip and thought for a second. "You're saying this asshole was willing to kill a cop in order to avoid being charged with fraud."

"These guys, they're all about not being exposed," he said, his eyes pleading with Rubirosa. "It escalates – first they'll threaten the people they're scamming, then they'll file lawsuits – lawsuits that never get anywhere, of course – anything not to be exposed as scammers. After a while, even they start to believe what they're doing is legit."

"So," Eames said, "you think Daitsch agreed to play hitman and spend life in prison so the Pennsylvania DA wouldn't file the fraud charges."

"Yes. And the reason he's so shaken up – I'll bet he had no idea that Hannah Kolchov was a cop. Whoever set this up didn't want him to know he'd be facing the death penalty."

"Which works in our favor," Eames said, addressing Rubirosa. "This is a relatively simple theory. Someone knew that Hannah was planning to confront Daitsch, and promised him that if he killed her, he wouldn't have to worry about the fraud charges. My partner's already explained this type of scammer's profile to you."

Rubirosa wouldn't answer her. "Captain Ross, please ask your detective to leave."

Ross gave Eames a stern-but-sympathetic look. "I know you're upset," he said, "but cool it with the insubordination."

"Any defense attorney with half a brain will eat us alive for second-guessing ourselves," Rubirosa explained.

"But we're not second-guessing ourselves." Eames wedged herself in between Ross and Rubirosa. "We've got Daitsch's gun and we're going to get a match on his fingerprints."

"Already have one," Logan said.

"Logan, you worked on a lot of McCoy's cases when you were at the two-seven, right?"

"Sure." He shrugged, apparently not quite certain that he wanted to get involved in this battle between Major Case and the DA.

"Then you'll agree with me when I tell Ms. Rubirosa that Mr. Holier-Than-Thou McCoy has no right to cast stones."

"Eames!" Ross snapped. "Cool it."

"Next time McCoy tells you to stick your head up Major Case's asses, you just ask him about the vehicular manslaughter cases he's tried." Eames spun around, flung the door open, and let it slam behind her.

"Counselor, I apologize for my detective."

"She hasn't had much sleep, she's very shaken up, please don't hold this against her," Goren begged.

"Here's what we'll do." Rubirosa folded her arms, a gesture of reluctant concession. "I'm taking Daitsch in for arraignment now. I'm sure we'll get remand. You can question him and any other suspects later, but don't let on that we're questioning other people. We'll deal Daitsch down to life without parole if he admits to being a hired killer."

"He won't," Goren said. "As long as he's on death row, he doesn't have to admit to scamming six thousand people out of a couple hundred dollars each. That's how his mind works."

"Then what now?" Logan asked.

"Obviously we've got to bring the sister back in," Falacci said. "She's the reason Kolchov went to see Daitsch in the first place. Our stupid scam victim is suspect number one."

"We're not going to bring her in." Goren waited until Rubirosa entered the interrogation room with two officers in order to take Daitsch to arraignment court. "I want to give her the chance to say that she knew what she was getting into with the publishing scam. We're going to talk to her after the funeral tomorrow. But," he said, turning to Ross," we're going to need Eames to make this work.

Ross let out a puff of air through his nose. "Fine. You've got her. Just try not to piss off the DA."

"It's too late now," Goren retorted absentmindedly.


	5. Four

Four

Goren's plan was that after the funeral, Eames would take Gary aside and Logan and Falacci would chat up Hannah's parents while he spoke to Millie himself. He'd accuse her of being a fool for falling for Daitsch's scam, and she'd defend herself, possibly letting on that she'd orchestrated her sister's murder.

Gary seemed to catch on immediately when Eames led him into kitchen. "How're you and Marina holding up?" she asked. "Do you need anything?"

"Hannah's parents are going to help out as much as they can. We'll be all right. Why's your partner questioning my sister-in-law?"

"We had a few more questions about Daitsch's operation."

"She's kind of dopey," Gary said. "Thirty-five year old woman with the personality of a starry-eyed teenager. I'm on to what you're thinking, Alex, and I swear to God, she's not capable of it."

Eames sat at the kitchen counter, then reached over and squeezed Gary's hand. "Let Bobby do his job."

"I've dealt with so many angry families – "my daughter? No way my sweet innocent little angel child is a hooker!" – so, I guess it's not my place to argue. He's a very good profiler, right?"

"One of the best."

Meanwhile, Goren sat in the den with Millie, away from the other grieving relatives. "Take a walk around the block with me, detective," she muttered.

"Okay." He hadn't expected that.

"There's something you should know," Millie said when they were outside. "It could be … relevant."

"But you're embarrassed," he guessed.

"About a year after Gary and Hannah got married, he and I had a little … one time, one-night thing. I don't get … out … much and it was wonderful, but … just once."

"You can't possibly think I believe you." He really didn't want to believe her.

"Ever since then, he's told me … he's tried to explain … he takes after his father. His dad was a Brighton Beach jeweler with a wife he loved more than anything and a couple of girlfriends on the side. So, I mean, he's always been loyal as hell to Hannah, even though he's got this girl upstate. You can't escape the patterns your parents set up for you, right? It's in his genes."

When she saw him walking back towards the Kolchovs' apartment, Eames knew right away that something was troubling Goren. Because he hadn't placed Millie under arrest during their walk, she knew there was more to the story.

"DADDY!" Marina had toddled in, and was holding her hands up to the ceiling. Eames knelt down and picked her up.

"Marina, I want you to meet my friend Bobby," she said, hoping the happy-because-she-didn't-know-any-better child would bring some color back to his face.

"She was named after your mother?" Goren asked. Eames was worried now, because Goren never asked a question that wasn't loaded.

"Yes, actually," Gary said.

"You were close to your parents growing up?"

"Of course. They risked their lives to get out of Russia in the 50s so I could have a better life. We couldn't help but be close."

Goren smiled wide, just like he always did when he tried to convince a suspect that he was just making conversation. Damn it to hell, Eames thought, Gary Kolchov had not had – would not have – his wife killed.

"So I can assume you'd have named her after your father if she had been a boy?"

"My father?" Gary seemed confused. "Listen, detective …"

"It's okay, Gary. I'll talk him down." Eames propped Marina up a bit and looked into the girl's green eyes, which were Hannah's.

Marina kissed Eames' nose. She loved the way children were born trusting, how they loved you unconditionally. "And how about a kiss goodbye for my friend Bobby?"

Goren laughed uncomfortably but seemed totally bowled over by the time Marina had craned her neck and kissed him on the cheek. "Take care, Detective Kolchov," he said. "We'll keep you updated." He flashed Marina a genuine smile and waved goodbye.

"What was that?" Eames asked as they waited in the car for Logan and Falacci to come downstairs. "Is Gary a suspect in your conspiracy now?"

"No. But his girlfriend is."

"His girlfriend?"

Before she could explain to Goren why Gary was not the extramarital affair type, Logan and Falacci climbed into the backseat. Eames turned on the wipers as the drizzling rain turned into a steady downpour and pulled out of her parking spot.

"We're heading upstate tomorrow," Goren said.

"Where?" Logan asked.

"Don't know yet. We have to do a couple of phone dumps and look at Kolchov's credit card statements first."

"What would Hannah have been doing upstate?" Logan gripped the bar above the window. "Jesus, Eames, slow down, would ya?"

"Not Hannah," Goren said. "Gary."

"Ooh-kay," Falacci said, shifting in her seat, probably thinking that Eames was five seconds away from letting go of the wheel so she could punch Goren in the face.

"Tell you what," Logan said. "Drop us back at One PP and we'll get you this woman's name by the time the sun's up."

Eames didn't say a word as she drove the detectives investigating her friend's murder back to downtown Manhattan. It wasn't until she was alone in the car with Goren, in front of his building in Brooklyn, that she spoke again. "I've known him for nineteen years."

"Eames, listen to me." She was somewhat startled when he took her hand; the last time he'd done that, she was lying in a hospital bed. "I'm doing my – our – job. How many times have we had a suspect's brother, or mother, or best friend say, 'no, he's just not that kind of guy'?"

"You said you suspected the girlfriend, not Gary."

"I do. You just don't want to believe that your friend was capable of cheating on his wife."

"Because," she said over the rain, "he thought he was the luckiest man in the world when Hannah fell in love with him. He knew she was the only woman for him, and he was terrified that the only woman for him happened to be his partner. He risked his job – and hers – to be with her."

"The sister said he was raised in a family where you could love your wife and still have other women around."

"That's not Gary."

He leaned in close so that his cheek touched hers. "Let me find the girl and ask her some questions. And if there's ever anything you don't want to hear, I promise I'll keep it from you, because you know I hate to see you hurting like this."

Eames shifted away from Goren and hit the button that unlocked the car doors. "Whatever it is," she said, her voice cracking now, "keep me in the loop."

"You shouldn't be on the BQE in this weather. Come on up, we'll have coffee, we'll …"

"No," she said hoarsely. "Hannah was always teasing me about you and me being the next Hannah and Gary. And I am afraid … I have good reason to be afraid … that out of respect and love and mourning for Hannah, if I'm in your apartment, I'll make a pass at you. And you and I having a one-night stand because a woman who thought we should be together died – well, that would not be smart."

In the eight years they'd been partners, through the most offbeat and twisted cases, she had never seen such a look of complete confusion on Goren's face. She apologized, said her mind was still fogged up, and sent him on his way.


	6. Five

Five

On a packed D train at 7AM, Detective Robert Goren reviewed his notes on the Hannah Kolchov case, trying to figure out what kind of man Gary was. But as he read and tried to forge connections out of the unconnectable, he found himself wondering what kind of woman his partner was.

The first days of Hannah and Gary's romance must have been incredibly awkward. After five years of a working partnership, what had it been like for them to see each other's faces contorted in the throes of passion?

But that was irrelevant to the case.

"Goren, we found the girl," Logan greeted him when he arrived downtown.

"Ah." He nodded with approval, nevertheless disappointed that he'd been right about Gary while Eames had misjudged her friend. "You're sure?"

"Two years ago, just before his kid was born, he opened up a credit card and had the bills sent to a diner upstate. He bought a cell phone with that card and used it to call the daughter of the woman who owns the diner, every other day or so. I tried this Julia LoPresti and she hung up – but when Falacci called the diner, she got the mother, who said we'd better take care of that shlub Gary Kolchov."

Goren undid the button on his suit jacket and sat at Logan's desk. "Where's Falacci now?"

"Sleeping. She's driving."

"Where are we headed?"

"Troy. Ross wanted us on the Thruway an hour ago. Nobody'd had enough sleep."

"Good, we'll head right out when she wakes up."

"You sure you want to tag along for this?"

"I'm not 'tagging along,' Detective Logan," he said, spitting the words out. "I'm assigned to this case."

Goren looked over at Eames' desk, her empty chair, her picture frame, her non-presence.

Had Gary and Hannah looked at each other across similarly conjoined desks once, wondering what they'd lost by becoming lovers?

_Stop asking yourself irrelevant questions_, he told himself.

A slightly more relevant thought took over half an hour later, while he sat in the passenger seat as Falacci drove north on I-295: maybe their love was so awkward, so uncomfortable, that the awkwardness never went away for Gary. Maybe that was why he had a girlfriend upstate. Maybe it wasn't a wandering eye/wandering crotch inherited from his father.

Logan slept in the backseat, his head tilted back and his mouth wide open. Falacci didn't take her eyes off the road. Goren pressed his forehead to the window.

"I say we talk to Mom first," Falacci said as they took the last Albany exit to catch the final stretch of highway up to Troy. "She seems more likely to dish the dirt."

"On her own daughter?" Logan had woken up.

"When I talked to her, she seemed pretty furious, let me tell you. If we walk in there and let her think we're looking at Kolchov for his wife's murder …"

"Which we're _not_," Goren reminded them.

"But if we let Mama LoPresti think so, she'll fly off the handle and tell us everything she knows if she thinks it means putting her daughter's married boyfriend away."

Goren checked his phone for a message from Eames. He'd expected her to call in wanting to know what they'd found. Maybe she'd decided to honor McCoy's wishes and stay as far away as possible from the case. More likely, she was afraid that she wouldn't be able to handle any more bad news.

The LoPrestis' diner was about a mile off the highway. A brown-haired woman in her late fifties stood behind the counter, chatting up customers.

"Mrs. LoPresti?" Falacci asked, flashing her badge low. A customer spotted it and flinched. "Don't worry, sir, we're not here about rats in the chili."

"You're the young lady I spoke with on the phone."

"Detective Nola Falacci. Can we sit down somewhere?"

"Yes, of course. Just keep your voices down. Julia's in the kitchen, and I don't want her to know I'm talking to you."

"You're afraid of your daughter?" Goren asked as they settled into a booth.

"No, my Julia's a sweetheart, but so naïve sometimes. I'm _sure_ she had no idea what she was getting into with this man, but she'll defend him to the hilt."

"Well, here's the thing, Mrs. LoPresti …" Goren reached for two photos in his folio – one, last year's Kolchov family Christmas card, courtesy of Detective Alexandra Eames, and two, a photo from the M.E.'s office, Hannah with a bullet through her right hand and lung. But before he could lay the pictures down on the table, a woman in her mid-to-late twenties, tall but mousy, burst through the double doors that connected the kitchen to the main seating area.

"What's going on here?"

"NYPD," Logan said. "We're here about your boyfriend Gary Kolchov."

"My mother doesn't need to hear about this."

Goren noted that Julia's voice trembled in spite of her attempt to sound assertive. "Falacci, take Mrs. LoPresti into the kitchen. You're right, your mother doesn't have to hear this."

Falacci took Mrs. LoPresti into the kitchen and Goren slid towards the wall, making room for Julia. She continued to stand, bouncing a bit on her heels.

"Ms. LoPresti, sit down, please." He flashed her a smile. "I won't bite."

He'd picked up right away that she was uncomfortable around men she'd just met, which was why he'd had Falacci leave her alone with him and Logan.

"How long has it been going on with you and Gary?"

"Twenty-six months."

"Aww," Logan said, "she counts the minute. Every minute she's been with her married boyfriend whose wife is now dead."

Goren removed the two pictures from his folio and placed them on the table.

"Oh God!" Julia exclaimed, her face turning even whiter than it had been before. "Detective, you've got to understand, it wasn't like this …"

Logan leaned forward. "Then tell us what it _was_ like, Ms. LoPresti."

"I knew about Hannah. I knew Hannah was his one true love. I never wanted to get in the way of that … I … I just needed to someone to be with."

"How do you know Hannah's sister Millie?"

"She came up once to tell me to leave Gary alone. Two years ago, before the baby was born."

"So," Logan said, "you found out about Millie's novel and then arranged for Daitsch to kill Hannah when she confronted him."

Now Julia was sobbing and hiccupping in front of all her patrons. "It's not like that, I swear to God it's not like that."

Logan started to ask another question, but Goren stopped him. "Thank you, Ms. LoPresti, that's all we need for now." He put away the photos of Hannah and headed for the door.

"What was that?" Logan asked. "We're just gonna walk away from this girl?"

"It's not her. Look at her, she's terrified. The girl doesn't have it in her to use her boyfriend's sister to arrange for his wife's murder. This trip was a waste."

"The Chief of D's and McCoy are going to want our heads on a platter for not making a second arrest yet."

Goren shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at his shoes and rocked back and forth. "This leaves us with …" he began, but couldn't finish the sentence with "Gary Kolchov."

In the last year, he had been responsible for every terrifying and heartbreaking experience that Eames had had to deal with. If he'd paid more attention to the interactions between Jo Gage and her father, Eames wouldn't have been kidnapped and hospitalized. He was the one who'd insisted on reopening her oldest wounds, her husband's shooting, more nightmares, probably. And she'd hinted a week earlier that he was the reason she'd never move up the ranks. He could not handle breaking her heart one more time; he knew – maybe somewhat selfishly – that without Eames, he'd have no one in his life he could genuinely count on.

"Should I call in, have someone bring Gary down?"

"I – well, we have to, don't we?"

As Logan took out his cell phone, Falacci appeared, dragging Mrs. LoPresti from the kitchen by her arm, waving her free hand frantically.

Logan put his phone away and he and Goren joined Falacci near the founter. "Tell them what you just told me."

"I said I never met Gary Kolchov."

"And tell then how you knew he and Julia were having an affair."

"Her friend Millie called me and told me all about it."

Out of the corner of his eye, Goren spotted Julia outside in the parking lot. When he flung open the door, she started to run.

Knowing there was a fire exit in the kitchen, Falacci ran through those doors to try to corner Julia.

Goren easily caught up with the hyperventilating young woman. He wrapped his arms around her upper body and held her steady as Logan and Falacci approached.

"Get a couple of state troopers here to take her to the city," he ordered. He then leaned in close, still holding her back against his chest, and whispered, "Tell me why Millie put you up to pretending you were having an affair with her brother-in-law."


	7. Six

Six

Goren saw Logan go for the handcuffs, but he shook his head frantically. If they put Julia LoPresti under arrest now, she would invoke her right to remain silent and wouldn't give them any information about Millie.

"_Why_ were you pretending to have an affair with Kolchov?"

"Will you protect me?" she asked, weak from hyperventilating.

He relaxed his hold slightly. "We won't let on to Millie that you gave her up."

"I thought I was doing a favor for a friend."

"Where did you really meet Millie?"

"On the Mitchell Street Publishers message boards, two years ago. They'd just published my novel, and she said she had one coming out too. It was inspired by her love for her sister's partner. Hannah brought Gary around to the house sometimes, and Millie fell for him, but he never fell for her back, and then Hannah wound up with him. So sad … I thought."

"And he never slept with Millie, either."

"No, but she _loved him_. It was just like a novel … it wasn't fair. I was supposed to pretend there was an affair and accept a couple of credit card bills so Hannah would leave him … I didn't know she was going to have her killed."

"And you were afraid she'd do the same to you if you talked to us."

"Yes." She turned her head and her teary eyes pleaded with Goren.

"Look," he said softly, "we have to put you under arrest. But if you tell the DA everything you told me, he'll go easy on you. Do you trust me?"

"Okay," she said, and the tears ran down her face.

Goren placed Julia under arrest and handed her off to the state troopers who would escort her to Manhattan. After Falacci explained the situation to Mrs. LoPresti and Goren put out an APB for Millie, they were back out on the road again, with Logan driving this time.

"So," Falacci said, leaning forward so that her head was practically on Goren's bicep, "you just fucked up our case. Any case we might have been able to put together, in fact."

"I needed to know what the story with Millie was."

"You needed to be able to tell your partner that all was right with the world."

Goren didn't answer; he just thumped his leg up and down repeatedly so that the whole vehicle shook.

"She'll repeat the whole story in interrogation," Logan told his partner.

"And a defense lawyer will say that because we – you – initially interrogated her _knowing_ we were going to arrest her five minutes later, anything else she says should be tossed."

"I'll – I'll take care of it." He continued to move his leg up and down.

"You've made too many mistakes. I'm going to ask Ross to take you off this case. You with me, Logan?"

Falacci wouldn't let it go. And she was right – ever since his mother's death and the events surrounding it – events he didn't want to think about, but gnawed at him anyway – he'd been making _mistakes_. This was the second investigation in a row where he'd allowed a suspect to send him in the wrong direction; he should have been able to read Millie better when he'd spoken to her after the funeral.

"I'll take myself off the case when we get back." And maybe it was time for him to force himself into early retirement.

Eames would tell him that he had simply come back to work too early, that he should have taken his full three weeks' leave, that he needed an extended break, not retirement. She'd assure him that it wasn't over.

Three cell phones rang simultaneously as they passed a Thruway exit thirty miles south of Albany.

Goren flipped open his cell phone and heard Ross greet him with a "you're needed back in New York _now_," and his free ear was bombarded with the sounds of Falacci shouting instructions at another Major Case detective, the siren which Logan had quickly set on the dashboard, an Amber Alert going out over their radio …

"Gary Kolchov was shot in the stomach," Ross explained. "In his own apartment. Neighbors called the cops half an hour ago, and the woman who lives below them saw Millie take off with Marina. Logan and Falacci are going to join the hundred guys we've already got looking for them, and you're too meet me at Gary's apartment."

"Right."

Goren closed his eyes, took half a breath, and heaved his phone at the windshield.

"If I can go 90 at least up to the Bronx, we'll be at Kolchov's in an hour," Logan promised.

"No. No, no, no!" Goren unbuckled his seatbelt and shifted around, unable to sit still.

"You shouldn't – if we're going so fast –"

"Don't you _see_? Millie set this whole thing in motion just before Marina was born." Each word took on a different pitch from the last. "In Millie's mind, _Marina_ is what stands between her and Gary. This two-year-old is Millie's worst enemy."

Thinking quickly, he recovered his phone and dialed Ross back. "TARU's going to want to go through all of Millie's posts on the Mitchell Street message boards. These people who fell for the publishing scam, she must have seen them as easy marks. There's got to be more of them involved."

"They've got three quarters of Major Case, most of the First Precinct and a couple of the Special Victims guys on this too," Falacci noted.

"She's gonna kill her," Goren whispered, the words painfully stopping up his throat. "She couldn't get what she wanted from Gary, even after Hannah was dead. _She's going to kill the kid_."

Back in Manhattan, he expected to find Eames on the scene, but there was no time to ask questions about her whereabouts.

"He's alive?" Goren asked when he saw a splatter of blood on the floor but no body in sight.

"Just barely," Ross told him. "He's in surgery, hospital tells us it's not entirely likely he'll wake up."

"I wonder if she was trying to send a message to Eames by shooting him in the stomach. It must have been a deliberate choice."

"Right now, our only concern is finding Marina. Eames is out there looking, too."

"TARU's going through the message boards?"

"You were right. She chatted up people up and down the Eastern seaboard about her undying love for her brother-in-law. She could have a whole network of support with these idiots."

Goren shuffled his feet. "Hell of a time to be right."

"Captain." One of the officers on the scene stood before them, radio in hand. "We just got word from Special Victims that they found … something … ten blocks from here."

"We're on our way."

Goren's heart dropped to his feet when he saw the Special Victims detectives standing on boxes, pointing flashlights into a dumpster. One of the detectives, a woman with high cheekbones and short brown hair, stepped down.

"Detective Goren?"

"Yes."

"Olivia Benson, Special Victims Unit. We're having some trouble identifying the girl. Do you think you can help?"

Goren nodded, swallowing hard, bracing himself for what he was certain was the worst. He stood on tiptoe and peered into the dumpster.

Quickly, he spun around and covered his mouth with his hand, letting one uncomfortable not-so-dry heave pass through.

"Detective?" Benson braced him by holding on to one of his arms with both of her hands.

"It's not her. It's not her. It's not her."

"You're certain."

"Yes. She's too old, the eyes are different, Marina's shorter. Get them back out there."

"Thank you." Benson left for a minute and returned with a towel so that Goren could clean up.

"I don't know how your unit handles it," he told her. "My partner and I have seen all there is to see when it comes to murder, but children … children always get to us."

"It's okay," she said, reassuringly holding his arm again. "I'll catch up with you and your partner later – looks like we've just caught another case, so I'll –"

"But –"

"Marina's the priority. It's been three hours. There's a chance – well, we'll keep working."

Benson hurried off. The sun was setting and the polluted New York City sky was glowing red. Scanning the scene, he spotted Eames at the end of the block, sitting on the sidewalk, her knees drawn to her chest and her short leather jacket around her shoulders. He saw Ross kneel down next to her and mumble something; he lent her an arm and helped her up.

Surprisingly, her face was dry when she approached him. He opened his arms to her, offering comfort or admitting defeat, whichever she needed.

She accepted neither. "Bobby," she said, looking at her feet in order to avoid his eyes, "I'll never forgive you."

With that, she walked off to rejoin the search.


	8. Seven

Seven

By ten o'clock that night, detectives in four states had executed search warrants on the homes of six of the Mitchell Street writers/scam victims who could have been harboring Hannah's sister Millie; they'd found nothing.

Alex Eames sat in her boss' office, her head buried in her hands, trying to think rather than break down.

"Six-and-a-half hours," she said.

Ross folded his arms on top of his desk. "I have to head back out as soon as I hear anything. Do we know yet what's happening with Gary?"

"He made it through surgery, but it's still a matter of waiting for him to wake up." She knew, from her own experience with Joe, not to be hopeful. "I really appreciate your keeping me in the loop, Captain."

He stood suddenly and looked past Eames, towards the doorway. She turned her small frame slowly to see her partner standing over her.

Goren's eyelids fluttered when he shut them. "Falacci will catch you up," he told Ross.

Ross nodded. "Where is she?"

"Downstairs."

"Okay." He led his two detectives out, locked the office, and headed for the elevators.

Goren sat at his own desk; Eames followed and stood next to him.

"Alex," Goren said gently.

Her first name. Bad news.

"We still _have not found them_. That means we don't know anything for sure."

"Tell me what you do know."

He swallowed hard. "If I could go back to yesterday –"

"Bobby, I freaked out when the Special Victims detectives told me Marina was dead. And then when Ross told me that the girl in the dumpster wasn't her, I didn't know what I was thinking anymore."

"The Atlanta PD picked up man who published a couple of fantasy novels with Daitsch's operation. He said he was expecting Millie in a few days, and that Millie had told him that someone had shot Gary and kidnapped Marina, and they were after her for it."

"So she's wasn't planning on showing up with Marina in tow. They shouldn't have picked him up. They should have waited "

"I know." He covered his mouth with his left hand, tilted his head, and closed his eyes. Sighing loudly, he slapped his hands down. "Now she thinks she has nowhere to go, which may be our worst possible scenario."

Eames sat on the edge of Goren's desk. "How many more Mitchell Street people do we have out there?"

"There were at least sixteen she seemed to have personal relationships with. She started posting to the boards three months before Marina was born, so she's had more than two years to convince these people she's trustworthy."

"That would have been around the time Hannah had her baby shower. That was one of very few times I met Millie. I remember thinking that she reminded me of some of our more crazed-with-jealousy suspects … she was acting cheerful, but talking about how lucky we all were that Hannah hadn't miscarried, considering how many possible complications there were for women in their late thirties. I ignored it, because what did I know about Hannah's sister? Oh, God, Bobby, I could have prevented _Hannah_'s murder."

He leaned back in his chair so he was looking right at her. "You were thinking like a friend, not a detective. It's not your fault." She said nothing because, in a way, she still blamed him for going upstate after she'd assured him Gary would never cheat on Hannah. But maybe that was because he was thinking like a detective, not a friend. "Let's take a walk," Goren said.

She stood slowly and went with Goren to the elevator, pausing momentarily by what had been Hannah's desk, and then by the vending machine as she briefly contemplated eating.

"You haven't been able to keep anything down," he guessed.

"Bobby, what I said before …"

"You meant," he said, over-articulating the last "t."

"I think for some reason too many criminals out there know that the NYPD's best Major Case guy hates fathers who don't do right by their wives and children. I think you were _wrong_, I think you haven't been doing as good a job of keeping your personal problems and your work life separate as you used to. But, Millie killed two cops and – well, let's just get to finding her."

Goren's cell phone buzzed. "Captain?" he said. "Okay, tell them to move _slowly_, and not to let on that they've got the house surrounded … we'll meet you there."

"Where?" Eames asked as her partner pushed the elevator button frantically.

"Bethpage. Thirty-five miles out on the Long Island Expressway. Ross and Falacci are already on their way." He tossed her the car keys. "You can get us there faster."

Goren got back on the phone with Ross after they emerged from the Midtown Tunnel and got on the L.I.E. He hung up when Eames crossed the Queens-Long Island border.

"The Suffolk County police chief wanted his people to go in immediately. Ross said Logan and our guys are holding them off, for now. Ross'll be there in five minutes, and then … we'll see."

"Who are the lucky homeowners?" Eames kept one eye on the road and one on the speedometer.

"Laura and Andrew Haber. They've published four crime novels with Mitchell Street."

"Nice. Crime novelists who fall for scams and wouldn't recognize a criminal if she showed up on their doorstep."

Goren leaned back in his seat as Eames briskly changed lanes to avoid a lumbering tow truck in front of them. "Eames?" he said.

"Hm?"

"Did Gary Kolchov die?"

"It's a matter of him waking up from surgery."

"You said before that Millie killed two cops."

"Look, we … you know why I know he's not going to make it, so let's not talk about it."

"Right, right … of course."

When they exited the L.I.E. and headed north on the Sunken Meadow Parkway, there was crackling on the police radio.

"Shots fired!" An officer reported an address only blocks from where they were. "Home of Andrew and Laura Haber."

Eames forgot to hold down the brake when she put the car in park; it came to a screeching halt. With bulletproof vests quickly pulled on and weapons ready, they ran into the house that the SWAT team had already ransacked.

She saw a pair of paramedics behind her, and quickly did something she never did: prayed. Just for a split second.


	9. Eight

Eight

Goren and Eames ran through the open kitchen door, into the backyard.

They found the Habers – the couple who had harbored Millie – being held by the Suffolk County police.

A 9 millimeter handgun lay on the grass.

Just past the gun, Millie was facedown with a bullet through her neck.

Marina, also laying on the ground, shrieked inconsolably while the paramedics tended to her.

Eames holstered her weapon and knelt down near her friends' little girl. "You can't touch her yet," one paramedic said.

"What happened?" Eames asked, gasping for air when she saw the bruises on Marina's neck.

"Her aunt had her by the throat and was about to toss her in the pool. You'll have to ask the cops for the details."

Marina continued to shriek. "She's in a lot of pain?"

"Looks like she has a fractured foot, but she's screaming mostly 'cause she's terrified. Can you clear away while we get her on a stretcher?"

Eames slowly rose, and Marina locked eyes with her. Tears ran down Marina's face, but the screaming stopped.

"You don't have anything else to be afraid of," Eames whispered.

Slowly, she walked over to Goren, who was questioning the Habers. "I meant to shoot her _leg_," Andrew Haber pleaded.

Goren held a hand out in front of him and cleared his throat. "You're not under arrest. The Manhattan DA may charge you with obstruction later, but we're not going to arrest you tonight. Just tell us what happened."

Eames heard the familiar sound of Ross's exasperated breathing behind them.

"I never fired a gun before," Andrew said sheepishly.

"Tell us what happened."

"Millie said the man she loved had been shot. We all knew, or thought we knew, the whole story from her posts. We told her she could stay with us for a couple of days, but when she showed up with the kid … and the gun … it was pretty obvious she wasn't who we thought she was."

"How did Millie end up _dead_?" Ross demanded, squeezing in between his two detectives.

"She found out they'd picked up the other couple in Atlanta, which meant she had nowhere to go, and she grabbed the girl by the throat –"

"She was going to drown her in our swimming pool," Andrew's wife interrupted.

"So you shot her while she was still holding Marina?" Goren looked like he didn't know whether to be disgusted or relieved.

"What else could I do? I thought if I hit her leg … but I guess aiming is harder than it looks."

Eames left them and ran back through the house in order to follow Marina's stretcher to the ambulance. "I'm riding with her," she told the paramedics.

"You're not family."

"Her mother was killed last week and her father's not going to make it through the night. I'm a friend of the family's. Please let me ride with her so she's not alone."

The paramedic nodded reluctantly. As soon as they were on the road, Eames asked for one more favor: take Marina into the city, to Saint Vincent's Hospital, where her father was.

"We're only a couple of miles from Stonybrook," the paramedic said. "Our boss won't –"

"Her father is there. They should be in the same hospital."

"They can have her transferred in the morning."

"Please."

As they rode in the back of the ambulance, thirty miles out of their way, towards downtown Manhattan, Eames held Marina's tiny hand. "I know you're afraid," she said, stroking her hair, "I know, but you're safe now, I promise you're safe."

"We have to get her into x-ray, but I'm sure her foot's broken," the paramedic said.

"She broke it when her aunt was shot?"

"I don't think so. Kids her age don't break bones so easily, especially not from a fall onto the grass."

Eames noticed a streak of dried blood on the side of Marina's leg and wondered if it was Gary's; Millie might have shot Gary while he was holding Marina, sending Marina flying down hard onto the linoleum floor.

Her heart broke for the two-year-old who looked to her now with Hannah's green eyes, full of both hope and fear.

Goren left One PP at sunrise and took the N train up to Saint Vincent's Hospital. During the ride, he kept both of his hands in the pockets of his long coat and leaned against a pole for support.

He was secretly glad that Millie was dead, because he'd have never made it through the arrest and interrogation with his sanity intact. Now, he wanted nothing more than to make it better for Eames.

He found her in the waiting room outside intensive care, sleeping, her head tilted back against the wall, her leather jacket still zipped up. Silently, he went to the vending machine on the wall opposite where she slept, bought a bag of Skittles, and slipped it into her jacket pocket.

Hannah's parents walked in, her mother wheeling Marina's stroller. Marina, too, was sleeping. Her foot was in a cast and the bruises on her neck were turning yellow.

"How is she?" Goren asked.

"Scared," Hannah's mother answered, "but the doctor says she'll do fine."

"Last night –"

"Please don't talk to us about Millie right now. "

"We may need statements later, but I'll respect your wishes."

"Would you do us a favor and tell Alex we're taking Marina home? We'll bring her back if … when her father …"

"I'll let her know."

"Thank you, Detective."

Goren sat next to Eames. Minutes later, she reached for his arm and awakened.

"Bobby?" Her voice was raspy and weak.

"Hannah's parents just took Marina home with them."

"How did she look?"

"She has a broken foot, and –" He signaled using his own neck, but didn't say anything else.

There were tears in Eames' eyes that she was too tired to fight off. "The way she was shrieking when we found her …"

Goren went to put an arm around his partner, just a simple gesture of comfort, but she stood, struggling for a second to find her footing. "You've got to excuse me."

She started for the doorway. "Alex," he called after her.

"What?"

His hands were on her shoulders. "I'll make you a deal. We each get one breakdown a year."

She smiled through the quiet tears that wouldn't stop running down her cheeks. "Sounds fair."

A nurse interrupted them. "Alexandra Eames?"

"Yes?" She quickly wiped her eyes.

"Mr. Kolchov is awake and asking for you."

She let out an "oh," half-joyous, half cautiously pessimistic. Then she looked up at Goren.

"I'll wait for you?" he asked.

She nodded, then followed the nurse down the hall. "We usually don't allow non-family members in at this stage, but I was told his parents aren't alive and his wife –"

"Was the Major Case detective murdered last week."

The nurse led her into Gary's room. His eyes were barely open. "Alex," he whispered.

"Five minutes," the nurse said, retreating to the corner of the room.

"Hi." She tentatively touched his arm.

"Is Marina really here?"

"Hannah's parents took her home a few minutes ago."

"Please." He grabbed her wrist, and though she could feel the IV tubes pressing into her arm, she knew he must have thought he was holding on a lot tighter than he actually was. "You have to tell me the truth. These doctors and nurses, they're lying, they want me to think I have a reason to live. Millie shot Marina too, didn't she? She took both my girls …" Now he was weeping and gasping for air.

The nurse, alarmed, stood up and injected a tranquilizer into one of Gary's tubes.

"Gary." Eames leaned over the bed's guardrail, tilted her head, and tried to make eye contact, Goren-style. "Marina has a broken foot and a whole lot of bruises, but she's going to be just fine. She needs her dad. You have to pull through so she can see you."

He was unconscious again.

"Can we bring his daughter to the window next time?" Eames asked the nurse as they returned to the waiting room.

"Of course. She can't go inside, but …"

"What are the chances there'll be a next time?"

"Well …"

"I investigate murders for a living. Be straight with me."

"The doctors tell us it's still very touch-and-go. We should have more information for you tomorrow."

"Thanks."

She met Goren in the waiting room. This time, when he held out his arms, she walked into them – but briefly.

"He's convinced himself that Millie also shot Marina when she shot him. It's … it's awful."

"You're heading home?" he asked when she started rummaging through her purse.

"They said they may not know anything until tomorrow. I need to shower – I'm sure you can tell – and sleep on something softer than a waiting room wall, and –" She reached into her pocket, found the bag of Skittles, and chuckled slightly. "_And_ I need to eat something slightly more substantive than candy."

"Okay." Goren shoved his hands back into his pockets when the automatic doors opened for them, sending them back out to 16th Street on a brisk October morning. "This is not the question it sounds like: why don't you stay at my place?"

"If there's a heaven – there's not, but if there is – Hannah's in it and she's laughing, hard."

"I'm right over the bridge, you're in no condition to drive, and it'll be easier for you to get back to Manhattan tomorrow this way. "

She linked arms with him.

They were a pair of detectives in black, white, and gray, friends who sometimes wondered if all they really had left in the world was each other, leaning on one another for support as they walked down a New York City sidewalk.


	10. Nine

Nine

She'd only been in his apartment once before, after his mother's funeral, when they sat on the couch together and he told her all about Mark Ford Brady. He broke down crying. She left when he fell asleep.

Today, after returning from the hospital, she showered while he tossed her clothes into the washing machine in his building's basement. He waited downstairs while she changed into the old shirt he offered her. (Hannah might have snickered at that, she couldn't help thinking.) She ate half a deli roll, fell asleep on the couch, covered by the blanket he'd left for her, and slept for six hours.

When she awoke, it was almost dark out. "I'm going to have terrible jet lag," she joked.

"You'll sleep more later." Goren left the kitchen and stood tentatively over his partner.

He was wearing jeans and that unfortunate day-off plaid shirt she'd never been too crazy about.

He suggested that they order in, assuring her that the eggplant parmigiana from the restaurant up the block was exactly what she needed.

When she went to the kitchen to eat with him, she wrapped herself in the blanket. There was no point in changing clothes again until morning.

"How are you feeling?" Goren asked, titling his head slightly. Was it concern, suspicion, or was he trying to read her?

"It'll be much better as soon as Gary gets to see Marina." Eames absentmindedly twirled her spaghetti on her fork. Without looking at him – focusing entirely on her plate – she added, "You know, after Hannah slept with Gary for the first time, she spent three days drunk and crying."

Goren nearly choked on his eggplant.

"See, we need to clear the air here, Bobby," she continued. "I don't want you to spend three days drunk and crying."

They laughed, hard, together, like old friends.

"You said to me after Hannah's funeral that you didn't want to come up here because you were afraid you'd make a pass at me solely for the sake of honoring Hannah's wishes."

"Is that what you think I'm doing now?"

"No, Detective, not at all."

"So, when," she began, once again emboldened by her pseudo-jetlag, "did you start wondering?"

"That day they put you on the stand and made you read your request for a new partner, and you teared up." He swallowed hard. "You?"

Robert Goren never asked a question that wasn't loaded.

"Every once in a while," she said.

"Every …"

"Hannah brought it up last year."

"Hm." Poor Bobby, at a total loss for words. But, they had to figure this out before another eight years went by.

"I like … watching your hands. I watch your hands and I wonder."

They finished eating in silence. After she helped him clear off the table (leaving the blanket on the chair), he placed one hand on her side, along her ribcage, and began a slow waltz. "You wonder …" he whispered in her ear, and that was the end of their eight-year professional partnership.

Eames woke up at eight o'clock and saw her partner – Bobby – the man whose bed she'd slept in – still sleeping beside her. She showered, changed into her now-clean clothes from the day before, and headed for the door.

She worried that they'd started something they couldn't finish, or maybe that they'd finished something they shouldn't have started.

Still, he made her shiver.

"You _could_ stay for breakfast." She turned around and saw Goren in his T-shirt and boxers, leaning rather sheepishly against the wall.

"I have to see how Gary's doing."

"Right. Do you need company?"

"Bobby." She moved away from the door, towards him.

"You need to think awhile. That's all right," he said, his voice flailing as it often did when he tried to contain himself.

At the hospital, they didn't let her see Gary until noon, because his in-laws had been in to see him earlier and intensive care had strict visiting rules. When they finally let her in, they gave her ten minutes with him.

"I saw Marina today," he said. He was still breathing laboriously, but sounded far less panicked. "They held her up at the window, and she waved … and cried. I just want to make her feel safe."

"I know," Eames said, reaching over the guardrail to take his hand.

"Thank you for getting to her in time."

"Hey, we …" She stopped when she realized that Gary hadn't been told the whole story, that they _hadn't_ gotten there in time and actually had Andrew Haber's not-so-sharp shooting to thank for saving Marina's life.

"Alex, there's still a chance I –"

"Don't say it."

"For practical reasons. Hannah's parents are in their seventies. She has no other relatives left, neither do I. You're our closest friend …" His glassy eyes turned from Eames' face to the wall. For a split second, he must have forgotten that Hannah was dead. "You'll think I'm crazy or full of meds – I am both of those right now – but you're the one person I know can keep her safe."

Eames closed her eyes and nodded. "Okay," she said, trying not to think about the lofty promise she'd just made. All she wanted was for Gary to be comfortable.

"And one more thing."

"Hm?"

"Let me play the death card again and say I think you should forgive your partner."

"What?" She laughed and gasped at the same time.

"I know how mad you get when people don't do right by your family and friends. You probably blamed him for putting me here. Don't."

"Gary?"

"Yes?"

"Now I know you're going to pull through."

"How?"

"You just '_played the death card_' and took time to worry about me and Bobby."

The nurse who'd been standing outside opened the door. "Time's up," she announced.

Eames leaned in and kissed her old friend's forehead. She wanted to say "I love you," but those words had not escaped her lips since Joe's death.

"Be good," she said instead. "I'll come back tomorrow, or tonight, if they let me."

She didn't want him to wake up alone, just like Bobby didn't let her wake up alone after her kidnapping.

In her mind, she flashed back to that first night in the hospital, when, woozy from injuries, meds, and fear, she'd awakened to find her partner gazing at her, his eyes filled with guilt and endless concern.

This was a man who loved her.

After Joe, she wanted to be there for her siblings, friends, to date, have fun, work, anything but be with a man who loved her.

"But seriously, Alex," Hannah had said one night at the bar after a round of beer and teasing, "something in you has been – I don't know – _missing_ since Joe."

"Well," she'd said matter-of-factly, "Joe."

"I watch you and Goren smile at each other sometimes, and –"

She didn't remember how Hannah had finished that sentence. Less than two weeks after her death, and she couldn't reconstruct her friend's voice in her mind.

But Hannah had been right; something had been missing.

Walking down 16th Street alone, Alex Eames knew for once exactly where she was headed.


End file.
